


Young Tolly, 1362

by JeanieT



Category: Liaden Universe - Sharon Lee & Steve Miller
Genre: Gen, Lyre Institute, Nerd Alert, Number name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanieT/pseuds/JeanieT
Summary: At the Lyre Institute, all students have number names. 1362 isn't a bad name to have. But he has to pick a new name when he's sent as an exchange student to the pre-university class on Delgado.Includes VERY NERDY contemplation of the numbers 1362 and 1023, since I figure that's what I would do if my name were a number.





	1. Student of the Lyre

**Author's Note:**

> Tolly Jones's Lyre Institute name is 1362.  
> For reference, the number 1024 is 2^10

Student 1362 didn’t mind being in time out too much. Sure, he’d rather be outside with the other kids, but he wasn’t going to rat out his friends who’d conspired to put his name on every bunk so it looked like every bunk in the dorm was his. That had been funny as hell, and worth not being allowed into the forest today. Of course the directors had blamed the student whose number was on the bunks. And he’d gone ahead and confessed, and looked shame faced, and he’d even cried obediantly when the’d taken a switch to him. Then he’d grinned at his friends and made high signs.

Part of the reason it was funny was that 1362 wasn’t too fond of his name. It wasn’t prime, it only had 3 prime factors, it wasn’t a Fibbonacci number or part of any other additive series, it did have the absolute values of the difference between each number at a sequence of 1, 2, 3, 4, but the decrease from 6 to 2 kind of runined the positive trend. Also it was even. 1362 preferred odd numbers, though maybe that was a matter of always wanting what you don’t have.

If 1362 really had been the culprit of the bunk name prank, he’d never have displayed his name in the base 10 number system. He preferred his name written in hexidecimal: 552. That’s what all his friends called him when the directors weren’t listening. But he wouldn’t have displayed 552, because the directors probably wouldn’t have thought of a name being written in hexidecimal, and whoever 552 in base 10 was would get in trouble, and the idea of getting some stranger kid in trouble didn’t sit well. He’d probably have displayed his name in base 13 or 14: 80A or 6D4. Then it would be obvious that it wasn’t base 10 and 1362 would at least be on the suspect list to make sure no one else took the wrap for him.

He smiled, hearing the other kids laughing in the woods outside. He bent his head to his desk, where he brought out the secret paper and pencil he’d stashed. When one was being punished, one wasn’t allowed an education board, or any electronic device. For that matter, one wasn’t allowed paper and pencil either, but it was much easier to hide because it didn’t flag the sensors keyed to sense electronics. 

He had several hours of time out while his classmates had their forest time, and he had a new puzzle to work on. He still liked being called 552, but one of his friends had recently asked what his name would be in base 10 if one assumed 1362 were already written in a different base? And that was exciting because that would mean his translated name would have entirely different factors! Working with as little paper as he could to conserve it, he found that his name, translated from bases 7-16 became: 534, 754, 1028, 1362, 1762, 2234, 2784, 3418, 4142, 4962. He was interested to see that several of these new sinonymns of his name only had two prime factors. That was interesting, but the translation from base 13, 2784, had 8 prime factors: 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 29, 87. 

Hmmm. He wasn’t sure, now, whether he preferred the sinonymns that only had two prime factors (divisible by two and a large prime) or if he wanted the cred of more prime factors. Generally, more prime factors was considered bragging rights, unless your name actually was prime. And there was no translation into any other number base that would make 1362 prime. Still, 1709 was a very high prime number. He decided that it’s double, 3418, would be his new favorite nickname. Better still, since the students were named serially, there was no 3418 yet; he could put that name on every bed if he wanted to, and no one else would get in trouble. If he could get anyone to call him that. He supposed he might have to stick to 552 just for social ease. 

He was trying to decide if he liked it enough to do the work of correcting people for a week or two til it caught hold, when he heard a key slide into the door lock. Quickly he shoved the paper and pencil into a pocket. The paper was a bit krinkled, but that was acceptable if they just didn’t see him do it …

“1362,” said the director, stepping briskly behind the desk. 

1362 turned and stood, hoping that it wasn’t obvious why his hand had been in his pocket. He kept his head properly down before authority. “At your command, Director,” he said softly.

“My name,” said the director, “Is Telvastor. You may call me Director Telvastor. I have reviewed the prank you pulled today, 1362, and have found that it warrents further action.”

1362 felt his belly go sour. “Further than the switch, Director Telvastor?” he asked. He’d seen a student come back to the dorm from punishment with what looked like burn marks and cuts, but she’d refused to talk about them. 

Telvastor half smiled. “Well, certainly further than the school, 1362,” he said. 

1362 frowned in confusion. He wanted to look up at the man’s face, but just managed to stop himself in time.

“We have the opportunity,” the director went on, “to send one of our Lyre Institute students on exchange to the pre-university program on Delgado, and we’ve selected yourself. You seem the likeliest candidate, as your prank today solidified. The action showed your initiative and programming skill, and was basically harmless. Every student we interviewed found it funny, which tells us that your reason for conducting the action was social. This is exactly the quality we wish to cultivate in our students, and you, 1362, will tell us after one standard year, whether the program in Delgado will benefit our students or not.”

***

“1023, present yourself,” said Telvastor, his voice projecting into the ship through the hatch. 1362 raised his eyebrows, interested. So, the pilot of this shuttle wasn’t a director at all, but a fellow student? But he didn’t know anyone with a number so low, the oldest student he’d ever met was 1231. So then was this a graduate? He found his heartrate increase in excitement.

The woman who came forward looked only a little older than the oldest students of the school. She stopped at the hatch entrance and lowered her head properly before the director. 1362 tried to catch her eye, but her expression - the woman looked angry, and maybe a little ashamed. She hadn’t run, but her breathing was heavy. What was wrong?

“1023,” said the director, “this is your charge, 1362. You teach it what Delgadan culture you might along the journey, as we discussed. And once you convey it to Delgado into the hands of the university representitives, you will?”

“I will,” the woman answered, sounding almost like her teeth were clenching, “proceed to the temple of Simplicity where a director will be waiting for my cargo.”

Director Telvastor nodded. “Good. I will meet you there after a while, to check in on your mission to the Simples and on 1362’s mission at the university.”

“Well, come on then,” 1023 said, and disappeared back into the ship.

1362 glanced at the director, who made a shooing gesture at him. He followed into the ship.

The shuttle was a little tight for two people, but the pilot didn’t make any sign she noticed. She ducked her head under the bulk head beams and flopped into the pilot’s seat, beginning to punch buttons as she did. 

1362 knew a little about piloting, his class had been shown a dummy board and he’d memorized most of the locations of the controls. It wasn’t enough to follow her movements though, fast as she was. 

“Sit,” she said. The only place to sit other than the pilot’s chair was at copilot, which made 1362 uncomfortable. 

“Um,” he said, “I don’t have a pilot’s licence,” he said. “I mean, I’ve had some lessons, but I’ve never …”

“Just sit,” 1023 demanded, not looking at him. 

He sat, responding to the command in her voice. He gingerly strapped into the webbing, which 1023 had done without seemlessly between motions on the board. He carefully avoided putting his hands anywhere near the board. He didn’t want to mess something up and then get jailed for sitting copilot without a licence. Actually, wouldn’t there be some kind of space trafic control center who would check these things? He’d never been in a spacecraft before. He kept his peace though, waiting to ask questions until the pilot wasn’t so busy.

“Open comm to control,” said 1023. 

1362 looked at her, heartbeat speeding up. “Um,” he said, “comm?”

“Yes, comm,” she agreed. “Open comm to the control.”

“I don’t …”

“Oh never mind,” she said, and reached over to his board and her hands flew in a sequence of patterns too fast for 1362 to memorize and duplicate.

“Student’s Convoy, requesting approval for the route to jump, enclosed on the data channel,” she said, then made a different pattern on his board, and unstretched her arms and legs, returning to her own board.

“Student’s Convoy, route approved,” said a voice from the speakers, and 1023 nodded, and turned the engines on. 1362 felt his body slam backward into the webbing. Within just a minute or two, they were through the loud turbulence and high enough that 1362 could see the blue edge of the planet’s troposphere and the black of space on the other side. The pilot was still working her hands at the controls, but there were no longer any of those distressing jerks and quick attitude correcting sideways accelerations. 

“So,” said 1362, hoping to make conversation. “You got named 1023, huh? That must be rough. Especially standing in line next to 1024 all the time.” The pilot kept working her hands at the board, and didn’t respond. However, 1362 noticed her jaw clench just a bit. Maybe it was a sore spot for her, maybe everyone unfavorably compared her to 1024 and she still wasn’t over it, even though she’d graduated. He figured he maybe should leave it alone, but found he couldn’t help himself. None of his friends had names anywhere near such a geometrically beautiful number.

“Did it make you feel like you were incomplete?” he asked. “Like a song ending on a five seven chord? Or did you,” he took a breath, “assume it was written in a different number base and call yourself a nickname in private?” The pilot didn’t answer, so he went on. “I did that, you know,” he offered. “I figure 1362 is one of the most boring numbers out there. I had my friends all call me 552, which is 1362 in hexidecimal, but I just decided to assume 1362 is written in base 14, which makes my name 3418 in decimal. That only has two factors,” he said, smug, and hoping the woman would be impressed. 

The pilot made a few more hand gestures and then turned her whole body to face him. “You listen to me, kid,” she said, her voice low and dire. “My name is Agatha. You don’t ever call me 1023, do you hear me?” 

She kept her eyes directly in his face, and he was so taken aback he actually stammered. “A-agatha?” he asked. “But … but that’s not …”

“It’s a name,” she said to him. “Out here, outside the damn Lyre Istitute, only property has number designations. Intelligent people, people have names. My name is Agatha. Say it, say my name.”

“Um, Agatha?” said 1362. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s my name, that’s all you need to know,” she said.

“But you can’t just change your name,” he said. “I mean, Director Telvastor didn’t call you Agatha, and you responded to … to your number.” 

Agatha sighed, and turned back to her board. “It’s not,” she said quietly, “within my power to correct the directors.”

“Oh, so it’s like a nickname,” he said, nodding. “Like how all my friends call me 552, but not in front of the directors.”

1023 … Agatha … closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. “Yeah,” she said, “yeah you’re right, exactly like that.” She sighed again. “Except if you talk to anyone not from the Lyre institute … well look at it this way,” she said. “Are any of the directors’ names numbers?”

“Well,” 1362 considered. “No, I guess not. But I figured that’s because they’re a different class of individual. Like if you get to the point where they promote you to director, they’ll probably give you a new name because you’ll need to distinguish yourself as one with authority rather than one without authority.”

“Authority,” Agatha murmured. “Well, I could see it that way I guess,” she said slowly, “if I had never been outside the institute, but you need to know that’s not really what’s going on. Listen, out here, in the real world, every single person, like I said, has a name that’s a word, not a number. Out here, if your designation is a number, it means you aren’t a person.”

1362 frowned. “Well that’s just closed minded of them,” he said. 

Agatha frowned as well. “Look, you’re not getting this, kid,” she said. “Take a step back from your situation. Consider the universe before the Lyre institute existed. This cultural norm exists throughout all the galaxy, throughout all cultures, Terran and Liaden alike, that if you’re a person, your name is some kind of word. And only things, inanimate, unthinking things, are labeled with numbers. Then here come these directors. They raise up some … special children away from the rest of the universe. These children are not given word names, but numbers. What exactly do you think that means in terms of how the directors think about the children in their school?”

1362 felt his mouth open, and stay open. He felt his face heat. “It …” he couldn’t finish the sentance. It meant the directors didn’t feel that he was a person, didn’t feel that any of his classmates was a person.

“Yeah,” said Agatha. “You got the picture now, I think. So now I think you’ll get exactly how I’m going to feel if you use my Lyre Institute number rather than my … nickname. Right?” 

That last was very sharp. 1362 swollowed. “Right,” he whispered. “Right, Agatha.” He slumped down in his webbing, eyes staring at the board, but only seeing the school. Bunks all labeled with the students’ numbers, clothes all labeled by number, all records of each student organized by number. It had just seemed efficient, but was it? The directors of course all had names, but so did the aides, the people who weren’t directors but made food, cared for the grounds, etc. All the visiting scholars who came to lecture on special topics. Did they … did they all see him as a non-sentient object? Like some kind of a robot?

“But I’m not a robot,” he blurted suddenly. “I know I’m not, I bleed when I get scrapes, I eat organic food and drink water. I have … I mean, my bodily waste isn’t … well packaged.”

Agatha snorted. “Very well reasoned,” she said. “Congratulations, you’re not a robot. But you know what you are? You’re manufactured.” 

Manufactured. 1362 frowned, turning the word over in his mind. “What do you mean, like on some assembly line?”

“Well,” she said, “Yes. A very speciallized, carefully observed assembly line, that involves genetic engineering. Look, if you want me to be more specific for a compare contrast to regular people, I’m just not going to do that. I don’t want to explain the facts of life to you, okay? They told you some of it in school, so you’re just going to have to extrapolate the rest for yourself, or else see if you meet someone in the future less disgusted by the whole process than I am.”

“Okay,” said 1362. “But I guess that means Delgado, right? That’s where you’re taking me, and if I’m going to…” he took a breath. “If the people there are going to regard me as a person, rather than a thing, then I need a word name, like you. Is that right?”

“Yeah,” said Agatha. “Bingo.”

“So, um, do I just pick a word? Does it have to be a noun, or can it be an adjective? Can I be Danger?”

Agatha laughed. “You don’t want to be named Danger on Delgado, kid.”

“Can you not,” he said, “call me kid? I mean, I’m younger than you, but the way you say it sounds pejorative. Just call me 1362 if you don’t want to call me 552. I mean, if you knew 552 or something I get that.”

Agatha studied her board for a minute, ignoring the request. “I was saying about Delgado,” she said. “In Delgado, at least the university part where you’re going, is full of danger-phobes. They will all freak out and lock you in a padded cell if they think you’re dangerous in any way.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously,” she said. “I have so much to teach you before you get there so you don’t get into trouble your first interaction. But this name thing,” she paused. “Look, I remember being a student, but as you point out, I wasn’t ever fond of my number label. And I’ve been out of school long enough now that calling you a number is actually making me uncomfortable. I get your point, it’s definitely a cultural thing, but I’m not used to the student culture at the Lyre Institute anymore, nor am I in any hurry to remember it. So you gotta pick a name stat, because I’m not calling you anything but ‘kid’ until your name isn’t a number.” 

1362 thought about that for a few heartbeats. Apparently the cultural norm for people to have word names was extremely strong. He felt the lump in his throat again at the thought that every time, his whole life long, that a director had addressed him, they were doing so from a position not of teacher to student, but as person to non-person. He just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Okay,” he said. “How do I find a word name?”

Agatha pressed a few more buttons. “Here, I just sent you a file with the names of all the main characters in Delgado’s 100 most popular fictional media. Browse that, and then let me know if any of those strike your fancy.”


	2. Arrival on Delgado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tolly picks his name, they arrive on Delgado, and are confronted by directors. Tolly learns something about the directors' power over students that he never knew.

Tolly liked the sound of his new name. Just looking at the list Agatha had provided, he hadn’t liked any of the names. But after Agatha had suggested he watch some of the media, and he’d binge watched a few shows over the course of a few days, he got much more used to the strange practice of word names, combinations of sounds that were instantly recognized in a sentance as a person’s name. And he’d been finally able to choose one for himself. Agatha had immediately started using it aloud, as though giving him every possible chance to get used to it. And it did flow in sentances easier than 1362 did. Usually number names at the Lyre Institute were pronounced in doubles, so his name would be “thirteen sixty two,” though one director in particular pronounced one digit at a time, “one three six two.” No one ever said the number in thousands, “one thousand three hundred sixty two.” Which was reasonable, that was a mouthful. But Tolly, with its easy two syllables, flowed into any sentance almost inobtrusively. It was nice, Tolly thought.

Tolly spoke with Agatha quite a bit about how “normal” people behave. He decided the directors were after him to go on this exchange because, as Agatha told him, most graduates of the school didn’t do well on their first interaction with regular people. They didn’t blend in well. Tolly gathered his mission was to figure out how to blend, and if he could do it successfully, the institute would be sending more exchange students to learn the same thing. 

As they decended into Delgadan orbit, and waited for their landing plan to be adjusted or approved, Agatha spoke again. 

“Listen Tolly,” she said. “Theres something else I want to tell you, but I’m … not sure I can.”

Tolly frowned. “Oh?” he said, interested. “Why couldn’t you?”

Agatha’s shoulders were tense, and she seemed to be controlling her breathing. “There are things,” she said carefully, “that the directors can do.”

Tolly waited. She took several more careful breaths. “You need to know about the -“ She bit off the last word to that sentance and grimaced. She frowned at her board and did several extravagant hand motions that Tolly knew by know were not necessary to fly the ship. She didn’t speak again for a solid minute.

“Look, Tolly,” she said again, almost gasping. “If you see a director pull something out of her pocket, something small, about the size and shape of a nail,” she paused another moment. “If you see that, run.”

Tolly blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

Agatha hunched her shoulders even further. “I mean, get yourself out of that situation as fast as you possibly can. Preferably, get yourself out of … hearing range.”

“What?” said Tolly, feeling like he sounded foolish. “What do you mean, and what is important about hearing range?”

Agatha’s shoulders were still hunched as far as they would go. “Running water,” she said, “often works. Trafic, or loud music. But distance is key, because even if you’re standing in a waterfall, it won’t help if the director is right …” she ended her sentance as she began coughing. 

Agatha suddenly undid her webbing. “I have to go exercise,” she said, and stepped into the tiny exercise unit directly behind the pilot’s and copilot’s chairs. She didn’t stop to change her clothes or tie her hair or anything, just stepped right in and shut the door.

Tolly sat, still strapped in, blinking after her. What was that about? 

He looked at the board and the screen, that was still flashing the yellow waiting light. He sincerely hoped that Agatha would be done with her exercise routine before the all clear signal came for them to begin their landing procedure. 

Agatha did come out of the exercise unit in good time. She’d really only stayed in there for about ten minutes, but she must have pushed herself hard because her clothing was stained with sweat. She didn’t heed this detail at all, however, and strapped herself into the webbing with no hesitation at all. Tolly watched her, but she didn’t look at him. She stared straight at her board, watching the blinking wait light. 

“Thank you,” said Tolly carefully. “I get that you’re not supposed to tell me some things. But what you just told me … sounded important. I’ll watch out for it.” He could have said more, but there wasn’t much point. It was clear from what she’d said that the directors viewed their students as objects, even after they graduated from the institute as Agatha had. And it was also clear that Agatha felt she still had to obey the directors, since she had lowered her head at Telvastor and agreed to his instruction. She hadn’t even corrected his use of her number label. So there had to be more to this scheme. Tolly had been thinking about asking Agatha about it for a while, but was afraid to. He didn’t want to get her in trouble, and he also didn’t want to get himself into trouble. But there must be some kind of purpose the Institute had for manufacturing all of these students that it considered sub-human. And for the life of him he couldn’t think of a single thing that wasn’t … extremely unpleasant. 

Agatha nodded, and didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for another ten minutes before the green all clear came through and Agatha began the descent sequence.

It didn’t take long, but it did take longer than the take off from the Lyre Institute had. Tolly wanted to ask if descents normally took longer than ascents, or if it had something to do with the gravity difference on this different planet, but Agatha really did look busy now, so he didn’t interrupt.

After they approached the landing point, docked, and opened the hatch, and they were both extracting themselves from the webbing, Tolly smiled at Agatha. “Well, thank you, Agatha,” he said to her. “I really appreciate your piloting, your company, and your instruction.”

She smirked at him, and playfully tossed a hand through his hair. “No problem kid,” she said. “I just hope you have more fun on Delgado than I’m going to.” Tolly’s smile turned sad, and he didn’t ask her what she was here to do. He was afraid to ask.

As they exited the small ship, Tolly saw two people in director uniform waiting at attention just outside the hatch. Agatha saw them a moment later, and she immediately stiffened. Tolly looked at her, but she kept her eyes forward and down, never wavering her pace. The two of them approached the directors, stopped, and lowered their heads. Tolly realized, having watched all of the Delgadan fiction programs, that this was an act of submission that no Delgadan would be expected to perform unless they were some kind of criminal. Uneasiness stirred in his gut.

“1023?” the director woman asked.

Tolly swollowed, and moved just his eyes to the side to see Agatha’s reaction. She grimaced, but didn’t move her head. “Yes,” she answered, her voice hoarse.

“I am Director Hrunsa. 1023, Your presence is expected,” the director continued. “Who is this other you bring with you?”

Agatha’s breathing sped up. She pulled a message board from her pocket and held it out, not raising her head. “This is … 1362,” she said, her frown deepening at the use of his number, rather than his name. “He is here to infiltrate the pre-university class in the wall, as an experiment for Director Telvastor. Here is the message.”

“1362,” she said, her tone musing. “Well well.” She took a few minutes to peruse the message. “I see that you are to learn social skills from the Delgadan pre-university students,” she said. “But it seems that staying inside the wall at night may be unnessecary. This is a boon to our mission. 1362, you will stay with us at our abode near the Temple of Simplicity, and commute to the wall each day for your classes.”

“That wasn’t in Director Telvastor’s orders,” Agatha said hotly, but still didn’t raise her head. “T - 1362’s mission is to focus on blending in.”

The director looked at her. “Ah, 1023, contradicting a director again.”

Agatha kept staring at Hrunsa’s feet. “Not contradicting, just providing information that may not have been considered.”

“Right,” said Hrunsa. “And what do you think should be done with this piece of information?”

Agatha looked grim, but she kept speaking. “I think he should be sent to the dormitory as originally intended by -“

The director slammed her palm into the side of Agatha’s head. Agatha plowed into Tolly, standing right next to her, and the two of them toppled to the ground, Agatha gasping. Tolly rolled to his hands and knees, and looked up to see what was coming from the director, and saw that she stood over them, distain on her face. Tolly felt anger in a high wave that crashed over the brunt of his shame. He stood. 

“You can’t do that to her,” he said, daring to raise his eyes to the director’s. “She’s not your student anymore. She’s an employee, or whatever, so now you have to treat her with respect.”

Hrunsa raised an eyebrow at him, and waited. She was clearly waiting to see what Tolly’s next move would be. Tolly felt his face flush. He had no idea what he could possibly do next.

“1362,” said Agatha, her voice a harsh whisper, “stop being stupid!” She’d managed to get to her feet as well.

“What?” said Tolly. “You are an employee. You don’t have to keep your opinions to yourself anymore. You don’t have to lower your head to a director.”

Agatha’s eyes slammed shut and she just stood there, trembling.

“I see,” said Hrunsa, “1023, you seem to have been putting ideas in the boy’s head.” She reached into a pocket.

Tolly had just enough time to hear Agatha’s whispered, “Gods damn you, kid,” before he saw something grey, long and thin brought from the director’s pocket to her lips. And when she blew, it sounded like pain.

The pain started in his head, and spread down in rivulets to his ears and down his spine. But instead of screaming, he felt his face grow slack, and his head drop back to its lowered position. He couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t scream, couldn’t grab the back of his neck to try to tamp out the fire there. And that lack of control made the panic worse.

Finally, after an insurmountable amount of time, the pain began to ebb. He felt himself draw breath. The fire that had run down his spine receded. He tried wiping his brow, but his hand still wouldn’t move. 

“I take it,” said Hrunsa, “that 1023, for all her talk during your voyage, failed to mention this aspect of your design, 1362?”

“She didn’t mention it,” Tolly said, then felt his heartbeat speed in alarm. He still had a completely blank face, and he didn’t mean to say anything, it had just fallen out of his mouth. He tried to look at Agatha, but even his eyes wouldn’t obey him. Her feet were still, and her legs weren’t trembling anymore though.

“I thought not,” said Hrunsa. “Well now you get to experience something that will hopefully make a lasting impression. See, we can’t have that kind of disobedience that you just displayed in our equipment. So now, 1362, push 1023 over.”

Shock rippled Tolly’s skin as he felt himself turn. Agatha was standing perfectly still, her face perfectly blank, her head perfectly lowered. Tolly put out a hand and pushed her over. She didn’t even bend to catch her fall. He winced inwardly as she hit the floor, but she didn’t cry out. Neither did the shout he felt welling in his stomach make any outward appearance. 

“1023, get up,” said Hrunsa. Agatha got to her feet. “Good,” said Hrunsa. “Hopefully this lesson will teach both of you your place and your role when receiving orders from a director. We will go to the apartment in the city, now. Follow.” She turned and walked out of the room. 

Tolly wanted to look at Agatha, wanted to demand what the hell this was, wanted to pound his fists on the walls or the floor or something. But he kept his head lowered, and walked after Agatha, who was walking in the same level manner behind Hrunsa. 

“Damn,” he thought to himself as his hands closed the door behind them. “This sucks.”


End file.
